Chapter 6

Yurik stood motionless by the window, nursing a glass of whiskey. Of late, a strange restlessness had gripped him, strong enough that he found himself craving liquor he rarely touched.

But the curse was more insidious than mere tenderness toward Edith Hamilton. It wormed its way beneath the surface, afflicting even the parts of him hidden from view.

He had thought keeping his distance would suffice. That avoiding the woman altogether would neutralize the threat. But if this was the result, what was the point of returning to the duchy in the first place?

“Master.”

Behind him, as he stared through heavy-lidded eyes at the skeletal branches beyond the glass, his butler made his presence known.

“The task you assigned has been seen to. Would you like me to handle anything else?”

Anderson bowed with practiced perfection, his posture flawless. He had always been a reserved man, courteous to a fault, with little in the way of overt expression.

So why now, of all times, were the corners of his mouth twitching so noticeably?

“What exactly did I instruct you to do?” Yurik asked, a sense of foreboding prickling his skin. He had never forgotten an order of his own giving, until now.

“You requested a bouquet be sent to Baroness Hamilton. You felt, I believe, that an invitation alone might come across as… insufficiently warm.”

“Madness,” Yurik muttered.

He usually remembered every one of his moments of weakness in cringing detail. But sometimes, like now, this damnable curse compelled him to acts of involuntary kindness.

“I’ve truly lost my mind.”

He had doubted it before, but no longer. There was no other explanation, it had to be the work of a fairy. Nothing else could justify the absurdity of it all.

“The bouquet consisted of yellow anemones, as you instructed. To match Lady Hamilton’s golden hair, you said.”

“I even thought to match her hair?” Yurik groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is utterly deranged.”

Kindness, of the most insufferable kind. He shook his head sharply, a scowl tightening across his brow.

“Where on earth did you even find fresh flowers in the dead of winter? You know how difficult they are to procure in the capital.”

At this, Anderson allowed the faintest smile to creep across his weathered features.

“Miller went to great lengths, I assure you. We had them shipped from the south via express train. He even sent a telegram ahead.”

“...Tsk. That man is too competent for his own good.”

“Why couldn’t he apply such dedication to meaningful tasks? Instead, he gave his all to the most irrational of commands...”

“Wait a moment, did you say anemones?”

“Yes, is there a problem?”

“Anemones symbolize betrayal. Unrequited love. Not exactly the message we want to send. She might misunderstand. Send another bouquet, with something more appropriate.”

As the explanation flowed effortlessly from Yurik’s lips, Anderson, momentarily abandoning decorum, blinked in astonishment.

“Good heavens!”

He bowed his head deeply, full of contrition.

“To have committed such an error… Perhaps it truly is time for me to retire.”

His eyes grew misty as he gazed off into the middle distance.

“In any case, I imagine Mr. Miller will be heartbroken when he hears of this. I’ll have the kitchen prepare his favorite dish this evening to lift his spirits.”

Yurik felt a chill crawl down his spine.

He had lived a life completely divorced from the language of flowers.

So why, in God’s name, did he now know the meaning of anemones by heart?

“Your grace clearly feels quite deep,” Anderson said warmly. “I suspect it won’t be long before we welcome a duchess to the estate.”

So overcome was the old butler that he’d even slipped into the affectionate title he used during Yurik’s boyhood. He dabbed his eyes with gloved fingers.

“Anderson, I’m not serious about her. There’s absolutely nothing between us,” Yurik insisted firmly. “Think about it, does sending flowers sound like something I’d ever do?”

“You are not some moonstruck adolescent, sir,” Anderson said with a genial chuckle. “But love prospers only when one first acknowledges it. Take this as the wisdom of an old man.”

Yurik gave a dry laugh.

“There’s no reasoning with you, is there? Just, go.”

“Very good, sir,” Anderson replied, then exited with a barely concealed spring in his step.

Yurik watched him leave, his expression dark with dismay.

“Damn it all!”

His fist came down hard on the desk. At this rate, the entire world would assume he was hopelessly besotted with Edith Hamilton.

But what could he do? Confess he’d been cursed by a fairy? That would be the end of his reputation. No one would believe him anyway, fae belonged in fairy tales, not the drawing rooms of polite society. Everyone would simply think he was in love and too foolish to admit it.

“Edith Hamilton...”

Yurik set his glass down on the desk with a weary thud.